


a porcelain smile

by jaimelanniser



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-09-07
Updated: 2017-09-08
Packaged: 2018-12-25 03:15:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,436
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12026934
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jaimelanniser/pseuds/jaimelanniser
Summary: They were going to marry her to the Kingslayer.





	1. a lannister always pays his debts

**Author's Note:**

  * For [roseweasley](https://archiveofourown.org/users/roseweasley/gifts).



> so this is an idea i've had for a while now, and it was originally supposed to be a oneshot but i might actually end up chaptering it because i feel like it's a longer story to be told. so feedback would be appreciated! hope you enjoy <3

They were going to marry her to the Kingslayer.

The one who her father had always spoken ill of. The one who had fought Ned Stark, wounded him, almost killed him. The one whom they said fucked his sister. The disgraced knight without a hand who was stripped off his Kingsguard white cloak because his father needed a proper heir.

Sansa wept that night, strewn on her bed, letting her shoulders shake and all the rage and despair and frustration and helplessness seep from her body. She allowed herself that one night before she put up the facade she was so used to wearing nowadays. One night where she just let go and cried.

The following morning he came to visit her while she was standing on the city walls, overlooking the sea and fantasising about a boat coming to rescue her, taking her far, far away from this hell.

“Lady Sansa,” he greeted her, bowing his head. She didn’t turn, nor respond. Ser Jaime came up beside her anyway, matching her gaze out to the open waters. “You wouldn’t make it far, you know. My sister would have ships sent after you, and you wouldn’t be treated nearly as comfortably.”

“I wouldn’t dream of going anywhere, my lord. King’s Landing is my home.”

Jaime blinked at her, clearly thrown by her comment, and he furrowed his brow. “Yes, as much home as your brother’s camp was for me,” he replied sarcastically.

Again, Sansa said nothing. Thinking of her brother would only be painful. Robb was dead. That was that.

“Your mother set me free, you know,” he commented idly, as one would notice a passing bird in the sky.

Sansa kept staring ahead with dead eyes; her traitor mother, he meant. Just like her traitor father and her traitor brother. That’s who he was marrying, wasn’t it? Sansa, the traitor, Stark.

Jaime didn’t seem to care that she wasn’t responding. “If you’ll let me, I will do the same for you.”

She almost reacted, but kept her countenance at the last minute, taking a deep breath and letting it out slowly. “I am sure I will be most happy in Casterly Rock, my lord.”

There was silence, then, in which Jaime only stared at her. It was making her uncomfortable, and she ducked her eyes for a moment, a beat, then lifted her face to look straight at him, at those green eyes and that beautiful face that might have once graced her dreams.

“Damn it, Sansa,” he finally cracked, his voice hushed as he stepped closer. “I know you hate it here. I know you hate me, my entire family; I know you wish we were all rotting underground. I cannot help what has already happened, but  _believe me–”_

The oath of the oathbreaker. She wanted to laugh.

“– _believe me_  that I will do whatever it takes to keep you safe.”

Sansa might have had hope for him, before. Before Tywin, before Joffrey, before Cersei. She might have believed his earnest words and determined expression. She might even have harboured feelings for him, perhaps. But that Sansa had died a long time ago.

Jaime Lannister wanted a smiling bride, so she gave him that. A smile. A porcelain smile, like a doll’s might be. “I am most grateful to you, my lord.”

She bent into a deep curtsy, her auburn hair falling down over her face for the briefest of moments, then straightened up again. “If you’ll excuse me, I will take my leave. I find myself tired.”

Her husband-to-be didn’t attempt to follow her when she left, and Sansa wondered how many days it would take for him to hate her like everybody else did.


	2. lemon cakes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sansa arrives at Casterly Rock.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> as i predicted, i got attached so i wrote more. this is officially going to be a chaptered fic now, so hope you enjoy reading! <3

They rode for Casterly Rock separately.

Sansa was given a carriage and she had Lannister men accompanying her, carrying her belongings, all of which fit into two trunks, most of them dresses from Queen Cersei from when she had been another Lannister’s bride.

Every bump of the road felt like it cut into her, splitting her open on her way to another prison. That was what the Rock would be to her, just like King’s Landing. Surrounded by enemies, by Lannisters; she would not be safe in her own room. She would have nobody.

They were even stripping her of her identity.

In a month’s time, she would be Sansa Stark no longer.

The thought made bile rise up in her throat, but she would not let them see her turn her insides out, so she swallowed it down and took another drink of water. The journey seemed endless, days in and days out, and Sansa wished she had somebody to keep her company.

Of course Ser Jaime had offered to ride alongside her, but she had politely refused, and said she was sure he would prefer to ride ahead of her, since her journey would be a longer one on wheels than his would be on horseback.

He hadn’t argued.

Sansa had never been to the Westerlands. In her life, she had only ever been in the North and at King’s Landing, a child and a prisoner. And despite her impending destination, she could not help drawing back the curtains of the carriage to admire the views.

Crossing the Reach had been impossibly green, with vast lands of flowers and livestock. The west was mountains, towering above them, with affluent rivers meandering between them. It felt golden.

At long last they reached the castle that would be her home, and even though she had promised to herself that she would hate it, Sansa was struck by the magnitude of the castle, the immensity of its elevation, and how impossibly small she felt as they rode up to it, moving slowly so the carriage would not be pulled backwards by the force of the earth’s pull.

“Lady Stark,” she was greeted by a lady in waiting when she stepped out of the carriage, looking around at her new home. As much as she wanted to hate it, the white stone, clean walls, and vastness of the castle was not unbecoming.

She was satisfied to note that one glance at the red banners splattered across the walls like blood were enough to get her stomach twisted and her fingernails clenching into her hands.

“If you please, my lady, I will show you to your quarters,” the girl told her, and Sansa gave her a small nod. Was she under Cersei’s pay, too? Would this girl, small, blonde like everybody in this side of the country – would she report back to the queen with everything Sansa did, as well?

Sansa was already lost a few minutes’ walk into the castle, with wide staircases and portraits of long-nosed men with striking light eyes and golden hair adorning every hallway. Until they made it to an open door, which she was led into.

She couldn’t hold back a sharp intake of breath. Where everything else in the castle had been red and gold, this room was grey. Silver curtains hung by the tall windows overlooking the sea, wolfskin covered the bed in the center of the room, and the rug was pale fur.

The girl seemed pleased by her reaction, even as she stood meekly by the doorway. “Ser Jaime ordered the room changed for your arrival, m’lady,” she told her quietly. “He also said I should be at your disposal if you were to need anything.”

Need? Sansa had walked into the room towards the window, running her fingers down the newly woven curtains and turning her forehead to press against the glass.

A sweeping sensation in her stomach, or chest, came through her as she looked down at the precipice between her bedroom and the ocean.

She swallowed and turned her eyes away, back into the room that was meant to make her feel at home. What she  _needed_  was to go home. Her own home. 

But Winterfell had burnt with Theon’s betrayal, and where was home when she didn’t even have a family?

Sansa tucked those thoughts away and turned back to face the eager girl with a passive look on her face. “I thank you for your help, but I would like to be alone now.”

She expected the girl to scurry out, but instead, she nervously hovered at the door. It was a few moments of Sansa looking at her expectantly before she blurted out, “I’m sorry, milady, but Ser Jaime wanted you to meet him in the East Wing terrace upon your arrival…”

_Yes_ , Sansa thought bitterly. _Ser Jaime seemed to want a lot of things._

Wasn’t that how he’d lost it all? His hand, his honour, his cloak? So she lifted her head a fraction in a nod of sorts. “Take me to him, then.”

Navigating the castle was a pattern of sorts, Sansa realised as they walked around it to the other side; she would need to memorise the way to her chambers if she did not want to ask for help later on.

The East Wing terrace turned out to be an expanse of floor without walls, high above, with a similar view of the ocean. Wind had picked up in the late afternoon, and Sansa felt a chill run down her spine in her warmer King’s Landing dress.

Jaime Lannister was standing at the edge of the wall, looking out at the sea, much like the last time they had spoken to one another.

“Good afternoon, my lord,” she announced her presence to him, folding her hands in front of herself dutifully, and noticed that the waiting girl had gone.

The future lord of this castle turned around to face her, and didn’t smile, but took her in all the same. “Sansa,” he greeted her, walking over slowly. “I am pleased to see you’ve arrived in good health. I trust your journey wasn’t too terrible?”

“No, my lord.”

Jaime nodded slowly. “Right.” He paused. “Were you shown to your chambers?”

Sansa lifted her chin a little, staring right back at him. “I was.”

There was another moment in which Jaime seemed to think that she was going to say something else. She wanted to laugh. Did he expect her to  _thank_  him for giving her a taste of something she would never have again?

“Good,” he finally settled for, quickly, breaking her gaze and walking around to the table in the center of the room, where some food was laid out.

It took all of her self-control not to react at the sight of small, yellow cakes with a thin slice of lemon skin on the top. Ser Jaime had gone to pick one up, turning it over in his hand. “I was told these were of your particular liking,” he commented, turning his face up to look at her. “I thought I might welcome you here with them.”

Was the satisfaction of pride worth the grumbling in her stomach of hunger and the longing she felt for the sweet, sour cakes?

She watched as Jaime bit into it, chewing without a care in the world. This was so easy for him, wasn’t it? He was losing nothing, and Sansa wasn’t stupid. In the long run, a marriage to her would mean the North for them.

The anger that the thought caused to surge in her was enough to quiet down the desire for the lemon cakes, and Sansa fixed him with a steely look. “I’m not hungry, ser.”

Slowly, Jaime set the cake back down onto a plate, and let out a long breath through his nose. “Of course you aren’t,” he muttered, shaking his head somewhat. Then he walked over to her, stopping only when he was right in front, so that she might see a single yellow crumb on his moustache.

“You might not believe me, but you are safe here,” he told her, quietly. “My sister…” A flash of pain, almost, crossed his eyes. “She cannot reach you here.  _Joffrey_  cannot reach you here.”

Sansa did not know what to say to that, so she said nothing.

“I would encourage you to start speaking to me, my lady,” Jaime finally said, taking a step back. “You might find that I am a worthy friend to have.”

He started walking away, back inside, but she did not turn to watch him go. It was only by sound that she noticed he stopped before he left, and she kept her ear perked for words.

“It won’t hurt your pride if you eat the cakes when I’m not watching,” his voice called out to her. “I’ll tell the servants not to inform me of whether you did, and you can have a treat and still feel that you won.”

Sansa felt such indignation at his words that she whipped around to – to  _something!_  Protest, yell at him, throw a lemon cake in his stupid, handsome face. Anything would do; but his back was to her and he was down the hallway before she had settled her thoughts into order.

Silent fury drove her forward towards the tray of cakes, absolutely intending to throw them into the ocean, just to spite him and his arrogant, cocky attitude. He was  _not_  all that, and she would  _not_  be bribed with a stupid thing like lemon cakes.

_No._

She stopped herself when she reached the table, her fingers hovering above the sweets. No, making a scene wouldn’t do. She was better than them. She would not let them see that they got to her.

That was what Jaime wanted, she was sure. For her to lose it somehow. But she would not.

A few beats passed and Sansa looked over her shoulder; there was still nobody in sight. She glanced back at the tray and leaned in to take a deep breath; the scent of the lemons wafted over to her.

_Nobody would need to know._

It would give Jaime the satisfaction.

_But he wouldn’t know!_

It was symbolically poison food.

_It had been ages since she’d had one._

Sansa didn’t think any more about it, darting out to grab a cake and popping it into her mouth. The acid taste stung her tongue and she wolfed it down eagerly, savouring the treat even as she berated herself for her weakness and consistently looked back to double check that she was still alone.

It was with shame and frustration in her belly that she returned to her chambers that night, vowing to get back at her awful tyrant of a future husband even if it was the last thing she did as a Stark.


End file.
